The Mummy Case (15 page)

"Emerson!"

"To someone else," Emerson concluded, with a guilty look at Ramses. "Amelia, as usual you are letting your rampageous imagination run away with you. Now that your detectival instincts have been frustrated, by my removing you from the scene of Abd el Atti's death, you are inventing romantic intrigues. Why can't you confine your energies to the work that awaits us here? Forgo your fantasies, I beg. They are all in your own head."

Ramses glanced up from his digging. "John," he remarked, "is in de house reading de Bible."

Alas, Ramses was correct. John
was
reading the Bible, and he continued to spend a great deal of his spare time in this depressing pursuit. The rest of his spare time was employed in mooning around the village (the expression is Emerson's) in hopes of catching a glimpse of his love. When he came back with a light step and an idiotic smile on his face I knew he had seen Charity; when he tramped heavily, looking as if his dog had died, I knew his vigil had been unrewarded.

The morning after the visit of the missionaries we completed our preliminary survey of the site. Its total length was about four miles, from the village of Bernasht to a line approximately half a mile south of the Bent Pyramid of Dahshoor. We found traces of many small cemeteries, from the Old Kingdom to Roman times. Almost all had been thoroughly ransacked. Two sunken areas, one approximately three miles south of the Bent Pyramid, the other a quarter of a mile north of the first, were thickly covered with limestone chips. These, Emerson announced, were the remains of the pyramids of Mazghunah.

I repeated the word in a hollow voice. "Pyramids?"

"Pyramids," Emerson said firmly. Clear on the horizon the monuments of Dahshoor rose in ironic commentary.

After luncheon Emerson declared his intention of paying a call on M. de Morgan. "We cannot begin work for another day or two," he explained glibly. "And Ramses ought to see Dahshoor. I had intended to take him to Giza and Sakkara, but we left Cairo in such haste the poor lad was not even allowed to visit the Museum."

"There will be ample time for sightseeing after the season," I replied, neatly folding my napkin.

"It is only courteous to call on our neighbor, Peabody."

"No doubt; but this is the first time I have ever seen you so conscious of propriety. Oh, very well," I added quickly. "If you insist, Emerson, we will go."

We took Selim with us, leaving John to superintend the renovation of our living quarters and Abdullah to conclude the survey. He knew Emerson's methods and was competent to carry them out; but it was a departure for Emerson to leave anyone else in charge. I knew it testified to the anguish of his spirit.

Despite the equanimity of temper for which I am well known, the closer we approached the noble monuments of Dahshoor, the more bitter was the emotion that choked me. With what indescribable yearning did I view the objects with which I had hoped to become intimately acquainted!

The two large pyramids of Dahshoor date from the same period of time as the Giza pyramids, and they are almost as large. They are built of white limestone, and this snowy covering exhibits bewitching changes of tint, according to the quality of the light—a mazy gold at sunset, a ghostly translucent
pallor under the glow of the moon. Now, at a little past noon, the towering structures shone dazzlingly white against the deep blue of the sky.

There are three smaller pyramids at the site, built at a later period, when building skills had deteriorated. Constructed not of solid stone but of mud brick faced with stone, they lost their original pyramidal shape when the casing blocks were removed by their successors or by local peasants desirous of obtaining pre-cut building materials. Despite its ruined state, one of these brick pyramids—the southernmost—dominates the terrain, and from some aspects it appears to loom even larger than its stone neighbors. Stark and almost menacing it rose up as we approached, as dark as the great pyramids were pale. My eyes were increasingly drawn to it and finally I exclaimed, "What a strange and indeed sinister appearance that structure has, Emerson. Can it be a pyramid?"

Emerson had become increasingly morose as we neared Dahshoor. Now he replied grumpily, "You know perfectly well that it is, Peabody. I beg you will not humor me by pretending ignorance."

He was correct; I knew the monuments of Dahshoor as well as I knew the rooms of my own house. I felt I could have traversed the area blindfolded. Emerson's bad humor was due in no small part to the fact that he was aware of my poignant yearning and felt guilty—as well he might.

The Arabs called the dark structure the "Black Pyramid," and it merited the name, even though it more resembled a massive truncated tower. As we approached, signs of activity could be seen near the eastern side, where M. de Morgan was excavating. There was no sign of de Morgan, however, until Emerson's hail brought him out of the tent where he had been napping.

M. de Morgan was in his thirties. He had been a mining engineer before being appointed to head the Department of Antiquities, a position traditionally held by a citizen of France. He was a good-looking man, with regular features and a pair of luxuriant mustaches. Even though he had been roused suddenly
from sleep his trousers were neatly creased, his Norfolk jacket buttoned, and his pith helmet in place—though of course he removed this latter object of dress when he saw me. Emerson's lip curled at the sight of this "foppishness"; he refused to wear a hat and usually went about with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and his shirt collar open.

I apologized for disturbing de Morgan. "Not at all, madame," he replied, yawning. "I was about to arise."

"High time, too," said my husband. "You will never get on if you follow this eastern custom of sleeping in the afternoon. Nor will you locate the burial chamber in that amateurish way— digging tunnels at random, instead of searching for the original opening to the substructure—"

With a forced laugh, de Morgan broke in. "Mon vieux, I refuse to discuss professional matters until I have greeted your charming lady. And this must be young Master Emerson—how do you do, my lad?"

"Very well, thank you," said Ramses. "May I go and look at de pyramid?"

"A true archaeologist already," said the Frenchman. "Mais certainement, mon petit."

I gestured at Selim, who had maintained a respectful distance, and he followed Ramses. De Morgan offered us chairs and something to drink. We were sipping wine when one of the tent flaps opened and another man appeared, yawning and stretching.

"By the Almighty," said Emerson in surprise. "It is that rascal Kalenischeff. What the devil is he doing here?"

De Morgan's eyebrows rose, but he said only, "He offered his services. One can always use an extra pair of hands, you know."

"He knows less about excavation than Ramses," said Emerson.

"I will be glad of Master Ramses' expertise," said de Morgan, smiling but clearly annoyed. "Ah, your highness—you have met Professor and Mrs. Emerson?"

Kalenischeff shook Emerson's hand, kissed mine, apologized
for his disarray, asked after Ramses, commented on the heat and hoped that we were pleased with Mazghunah. Neither of us felt inclined to reply to this last remark. Kalenischeff put his monocle in his eye and ogled me in a familiar fashion. "At any rate, Madame lends beauty to an otherwise dismal site," he said. "What a fetching costume!"

"I did not come here to talk about women's clothing," said Emerson, scowling fiercely as the Russian studied my booted calves.

"Of course not," Kalenischeff said smoothly. "Any advice or assistance we can offer you—"

That is only a sample of the unsatisfactory tenor of the conversation. Every time Emerson tried to introduce a sensible subject, de Morgan talked about the weather or the Russian made some slighting suggestion. Needless to say, I burned with indignation at seeing my husband, so infinitely superior in all ways, insulted by these two, and finally I decided to suffer it no longer. I can, when necessary, raise my voice to a pitch and volume very trying to the ears, and impossible to ignore.

"I wish to talk to you about the illegal antiquities trade," I said.

Kalenischeff's monocle fell from his eye, de Morgan choked in mid-swallow, the servants jumped, and one dropped the glass he was holding. Having achieved my immediate goal of capturing the gentlemen's attention, I continued in a more moderate tone. "As director of Antiquities, monsieur, you are of course fully informed about the situation. What steps are you taking to halt this nefarious trade and imprison the practitioners?"

De Morgan cleared his throat. "The usual steps, madame."

"Now, monsieur, that will not suffice." I shook my finger playfully and raised my voice a notch or two. "You are not addressing an empty-headed lady tourist; you are talking to ME. I know more than you suppose. I know, for instance, that the extent of the trade has increased disastrously; that an unknown Master Criminal has entered the game—"

"The devil!" Kalenischeff cried. His monocle, which he had
replaced, again fell from its place. "Er—your pardon, Madame Emerson..."

"You appear surprised," I said. "Is this information new to you, your highness?"

"There has always been illicit digging. But your talk of a Master Criminal..." He shrugged.

"His highness is correct," de Morgan said. "Admittedly there has been a slight increase in the illegal trade of late, but— forgive me, madame—the Master Criminal exists only in sensational fiction, and I have seen no evidence of a gang at work."

His denials proved to me that he was quite unfit for his responsible position. Kalenischeff was obviously hiding something. I felt I was on the verge of great discoveries, and was about to pursue my inquiries more forcibly when a shout arose. It held such a note of terror and alarm that we all started to our feet and ran in the direction from which it had come.

Selim lay flat on the ground, his arms flailing, his cries for help rising to a frenzied pitch. Such a cloud of sand surrounded him that we were quite close before I realized what the trouble was. The terrain, west of the pyramid base, was very uneven, covered with sunken hollows and raised ridges—certain evidence of ancient structures buried beneath the sand. From one such hollow an arm protruded, stiff as a tree branch. Around it Selim was digging furiously, and it required very little intelligence to deduce that
{A],
the arm belonged to Ramses, and (B), the rest of Ramses was under the sand.

Bellowing in horror, Emerson flung Selim aside. Instead of wasting time digging, he seized Ramses' wrist and gave a mighty heave. Ramses rose up out of the souterrain like a trout rising to a fly.

I stood leaning on my parasol while Emerson brushed the sand off his son, assisted halfheartedly by the others. When the worst of it was removed I uncorked my flask of water and offered it to Emerson, together with a clean white handkerchief.

"Pour the water over his face, Emerson. I observe he has had
the sense to keep his eyes and mouth tightly shut, so the damage should not be extensive."

And so it proved. Emerson decided we had better take Ramses home. I agreed to the suggestion; the interruption had shattered the web I had been weaving around the villainous Russian, and there was no point in continuing. De Morgan did not attempt to detain us.

As we bade a reluctant farewell to Dahshoor, Selim tugged at my sleeve. "Sitt, I have failed you. Beat me, curse me!"

"Not at all, my boy," I replied. "It is quite impossible to prevent Ramses from falling into, or out of, objects. Your task is to rescue him or summon assistance, and you performed quite well. Without you, he might have smothered."

Selim's face cleared. Gratefully he kissed my hand.

Emerson, with Ramses, had drawn a short distance ahead. Overhearing what I had said, he stopped and waited for us.

"Quite right, Peabody. You have summed up the situation nicely. I have already cautioned Ramses to be more careful and—er—no more need be said on the subject."

"Humph," I said.

"All's well that ends well," Emerson insisted. "By the way, Peabody, what was the purpose of your quizzing de Morgan about antiquities thieves? The man is a perfect fool, you know. He is as ineffectual as his predecessor in office."

"I was about to question Kalenischeff about Abd el Atti's death when Ramses interrupted, Emerson."

"Interrupted? Interrupted! I suppose that is one way of putting it."

"Kalenischeff is a most suspicious character. Did you observe his reaction when I spoke of the Master Criminal?"

"If I had been wearing a monocle—"

"A most unlikely supposition, Emerson. I cannot imagine you wearing such an absurd accoutrement."

"If," Emerson repeated doggedly, "I had been wearing a monocle, I would have let it fall on hearing such a preposterous
suggestion. I beg you will leave off playing detective, Amelia. That is all behind us now."

Emerson was, of course, engaging in wishful thinking when he said our criminal investigations were ended. If he had stopped to consider the matter, he would have realized, as I did, that removal from Cairo did not mean we were removed from the case. The thief who had entered our hotel room had been led thither as a result of our involvement in Abd el Atti's death. I was as certain of that as I was of my own name. The thief had not found the object he was looking for. It must be something of considerable importance to him or he would not have risked entering a place as well guarded as Shepheard's. The conclusion? It should be obvious to any reasonable person. The thief would continue to search for the missing object. Sooner or later we would hear from him—another attempt at burglary, or an assault on one of us, or some other interesting attention. Since this had not occurred to Emerson, I did not feel obliged to point it out to him. He would only have fussed.

On the following day we were ready to begin work. Emerson had decided to start with a late cemetery. I tried to dissuade him, for I have no patience with martyrs.

"Emerson, you know quite well from the visible remains that this cemetery probably dates from Roman times. You hate late cemeteries. Why don't we work at the—er—pyramids? You may find subsidiary tombs, temples, a substructure—"